


Of tribbles and trust

by 17 pansies (17pansies)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Day in the life of SHIELD, Gen, Hawkeye lurks, Phil Coulson is a badass, Sitwell rocks, and also thoughtful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/pseuds/17%20pansies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of little snapshots, windows into a day in the life of SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of tribbles and trust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the beautiful and talented @erebusodora who asked for insights into daily life at SHIELD in return for a chance to win a t-shirt via her Tumblr, erebusodora.tumblr.com
> 
> She got this, I got the t-shirt and I know who got the better deal!! *spoilers - it was me. Thank you, Док.
> 
> No pairing (unless you squint, which I do). Thanks go to the wonderful Zolacnomiko for her beta-ing skills. I do so enjoy those delightful emails in which we wrangle with the English language.

“What?”

“Uh, sir?” The face that peered around his door was wide-eyed and Nick braced himself, knowing that it was never a good thing when the younger agents were sent to his door.

“What is it now, Agent Colburn?”

“We have an, er, situation?”

“Do we? Or don’t we? Are you asking me if we do because right now, the only situation I think we’ve got is your interruption of my morning.”

“Oh, oh, sorry sir.” The door swung fully open and revealed Colburn standing there with his arms full of round, furry balls. “We do have one. A situation, that is. Uh, Director Hill has asked for you?”

Nick strode out of his office, making sure to flick his coat just enough to catch a couple of those furry things Colburn was holding and send them tumbling to the floor. The Level 2 agent dropped to his knees and tried to gather them back up, managing to drop the remaining ones whilst he was at it and scrambling after them as they rolled away down the corridor.

“What the hell is it this time?” Nick barked, stomping into the main control centre. Damn, but he wished he was back on the Helicarrier on days like this. “And why is Colburn carrying an armload of damned Furbies around with him?”

“They aren’t Furbies, sir.” Hill pointed her finger at one of the big screens in the corner and it sprang to life. “I believe they’re called tribbles.”

~

“I swear he’s not human.” Probationary Agent Sally Vane refilled her water cup and glanced over her shoulder, checking that the coast really was clear before continuing. “He just, you know, appears, like. One minute, totally empty corridor, the next, like, he’s there.” Sally shivered.

“And he knows stuff too. You try to tell him something that’s not like one hundred percent accurate, and he just looks at you, right through you and out the other side and he ain’t gotta say a word, man, not a word, and you find yourself just spilling all the beans.” Edgar (aka Trainee Edgar Portis, two months from probationary level 1) nodded.

“Y’all just being superstitious,” Joel said. “Just because they said he came back from the dead, I mean, pshaw, who does that really? He’s just an agent, like we’re going to be one day.” He spoke with all the authority of someone only a few days off his three month anniversary at SHIELD. Another eight weeks and he’d even get a title. He thought ‘Trainee Joel DiMarcus’ had a very nice ring to it.

“They say he’s level nine.” Sally’s eyes grew round at the very idea. 

“No such thing.” With a contemptuous sniff, Joel screwed up his water cup and dropped it into the recycling bin. “Everyone knows it only goes up to level six.”

There was the sound of someone softly clearing their throat from behind them, and all three trainees spun around.

“May I?” Coulson asked them, pointing to the water cooler.

“Yes sir,” Edgar stuttered, backing away. “Sorry sir.”

“We’re j-just off back to PT.” Joel nodded.

Sally simply stared at him, struck dumb.

“Yes?” Coulson raised an eyebrow, and the three newbies bolted.

“That was cruel,” said an amused voice from the air duct above. 

“And using an arrow to pin your request for annual leave to HR’s door wasn’t?” Phil sipped at the paper cup of cool water and smothered a smile at the chuckle from over his head.

“Got it approved, didn’t it?”

~

“I really don’t care if a portal to Leonides XVI just opened in your backyard, madam,” Jasper said with a long suffering sigh. “I am more concerned about the fact you have come through on this number. Can I ask where you got it?”

He ignored the snickering of the agent sat next to him and concentrated on listening to the elderly lady.

“So you’re saying the little green men on your lawn told you to call the President and gave you this number?”

The snickering grew louder and Jasper flicked a pencil at the junior agent’s head, not even bothering to smile when it hit the young man directly between the eyes.

“Yes ma’am, I know the number for the President should have started with 202, which is why I’m questioning this one.” He frowned and tucked the phone a little more securely under his ear. “They gave you the 212 code?”

Jasper reached for his cell phone and pressed a couple of buttons. 

“Ma’am, just – hang on one moment please ma’am. Can you describe the alien that gave you this number please?”

If that agent thought he was out of range, Jasper thought, watching the young man retreat to the other end of the office to laugh some more, he was sorely mistaken.

“Okay, ma’am, that’s fine. If they’re being friendly then yes, you can offer them cookies by all means but don’t be offended if they don’t accept them.” He began typing on his cell phone with one hand and his computer keyboard with the other, scowling at the screen in concentration. “Has anyone else seen them? Oh, you’re on your own, well, that’s ok, I’ll have someone come down and see if they can’t help these alie- sorry, green gentlemen, you’re right, ma’am, civility costs nothing. No, no, not at all, thank you for bringing this to our attention. Tell them a representative of the President will be with them shortly, but they – no ma’am, of course you can ask. I’m sure they won’t be upset if you ask them to turn the portal off so it doesn’t scorch your lawn any more. Yes ma’am, it was a pleasure to speak to you to. Right away, thank you, Ms Carter. Yes, I have your number if I need to call you again.”

Jasper put the phone down and sighed again. Then he calmly picked up a small box of staples and tossed them over the top of his bank of computer screens. The thud and the yelp were doubly satisfying.

~

“Who’s on duty today?” Clint asked, sidling up to where Natasha stood waiting for her lunch. The line of SHIELD employees was a quiet, orderly thing, and that told him louder than words it was Hetty who was wearing the hairnet and white coverall. He grinned at Natasha’s eye roll and reached for a tray. “At least we know it means everything will be edible.”

“Your definition of edible, Clint, is not the same as mine.” She frowned at the various aluminium trays laid out on the counter and pointed at two. “Although I am hoping that beef stew tastes as good as it smells.”

“Still can’t figure out why you put it on noodles though.” Clint turned his attention to the elderly woman behind the counter and gave her one of his brightest smiles. “You’re looking happy today, Hetty,” he said with a wink. “What’s good?”

Hetty fixed him with a glare that would have turned practically every other specialist in the agency to stone, but he smirked at her and jigged one eyebrow.

“Try the pie,” she said, voice turned to gravel by decades of full strength Marlboros.

“I shall be guided by you,” Clint held his tray out and watched as his portion of pot pie was accompanied by a big pile of mashed potatoes and three different vegetables. It wasn’t until the plate was swimming in gravy that Clint nodded his thanks. “Looks good.”

“How can you eat that?” Natasha asked, looking up as he joined her at the table in the corner. They had the view of the whole room, three pedestrian exits and two up through the nearby vents and there were at least twelve tables between them and the widest doors. “You cannot taste the food for the gravy.”

“That’s the idea, Tasha.” Clint scooped up a big forkful of pie, mash and gravy and shovelled it into his mouth. “All-vo,” he said around the mouthful. “’S’good!”

“Cвинья,” she muttered, hiding a smile.

~

Maria stared morosely at the sandwich on the plate in front of her. No time for lunch, she thought, not with tribbles and strange portals in Westbrook, Maine, and a batch of the most useless trainee agents she’d ever had the misfortune to be saddled with. She picked up the dull-looking offering and took a bite.

Well, there was some kind of meat in there – ham? – and something that approximated lettuce although she wasn’t entirely sure as it didn’t quite crunch the way lettuce should. The bread was okay, maybe not the freshest but she took another bite before setting it back on the paper plate and turning her attention back to the four screens in front of her. Fury was off doing whatever it was he was supposed to be doing to sort out the influx of small, irritating furry things that were now infesting parts of Florida. They probably liked the heat although the humidity was an issue Maria wasn’t prepared to acknowledge, not yet anyway. Not until they’d ascertained that the moisture wouldn’t make them reproduce like Mogwai. 

Turning her attention to the third screen, she checked on the progress of the Quinjet that was taking the delegation to Maine to intercept the visitors who’d given the old woman Sitwell’s number. That was one she would have liked to have gone on, if for no other reason than to escape this damned office, even for the afternoon. Polite ETs and interesting, stable, geo-magnetic portals were infinitely preferable to recalcitrant trainees who believed they were owed at least a level two clearance for just turning up each day and the million and one irritating little bits of bureaucracy that Fury dropped in her lap just because she was his second. 

There was the faintest click behind her and she turned, about to give a piece of her mind to whichever person it was who’d climbed up onto her mezzanine above the main control centre, but there was no one there.

Sighing, she reached out for her sandwich, and froze.

Precisely how her limp ham salad had transformed into a thick, still-warm BLT with crisp, crunchy Romaine lettuce, generously sliced and fully ripe tomatoes and hand cut bacon with a heavy dressing of good mayonnaise on a fresh, crusty French baguette, she had no idea. But she wasn’t going to complain.

And if she didn’t roster Coulson on call that weekend, either, no one would be any the wiser, she decided.

~

“Vodka?” Natasha asked, hiding her smirk when Clint actually _twitched_ at her voice. Phil didn’t so much as flinch but she’d long since stopped trying to catch him out. Stepping out from behind the post in the underground garage, she walked over to Phil’s Acura.

“You buying?” Clint asked. There was the faintest edge of grump to his voice and she had to fight down the urge to giggle. Phil just rolled his eyes.

“I’ll buy,” Phil said, pressing the button on the key fob and tilting his head at the vehicle. “Get in, the pair of you.”

“Where to, bossman?” Clint automatically slipped behind the wheel and Natasha observed how Phil tossed him the keys without so much as a blink. 

“Clover Club,” Natasha said when Phil looked at her. “Smith Street.”

“Is that the one Steve is always raving about?” Clint started the engine and Natasha sat behind him, leaning over his shoulder slightly. 

“Good food,” Phil supplied.

“Fair enough.” As Clint pointed the Acura at the up ramp and began the four floor ascent up to street level, Natasha let herself relax back into the plush rear seat. Just a regular Friday, she thought, with two whole days off that she fully intended on spending in the gym, the pool and the sauna (lather, rinse, repeat until midday Sunday when she was going to haul Clint out of the trees in Central Park and take him to lunch). 

~

Phil watched his two specialists gradually relax as the distance between them and HQ increased. Not that either of them would ever completely let their guards down, but he knew in an hour or two when they were on the outside of half a dozen shots of vodka (or the equivalent quantity of good bourbon) and some nachos and BBQ chicken wings, they would be calm and the closest thing to peaceful they could get. And if he was able to help them chill out a little, then he would consider it a good start to the weekend for all of them.

He just had to keep his fingers crossed that Sitwell managed to cope with Ms Carter.


End file.
